


All That I've Been Yearning For

by Anonymous



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alpha Crystal Taylor, Alpha Dominique Beyrand, Alpha Freddie Mercury, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternative Universe- Mamma Mia, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mpreg, Multi, Omega Roger Taylor (Queen), Pregnant Roger Taylor (Queen), Smut, Sub Roger Taylor (Queen)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21780856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Omega Roger Taylor goes on a gap year to explore the world. On the way he meets three alphas; Freddie, Dominique and Crystal and well, you can guess what happens from there.
Relationships: Chris "Crystal" Taylor/Roger Taylor, Dominique Beyrand/Roger Taylor, Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor
Comments: 9
Kudos: 38
Collections: Anonymous, Anonymous Fics





	All That I've Been Yearning For

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emma_and_orlando](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emma_and_orlando/gifts).



> This is a secret santa gift for emma_and_orlando <3 Yes this is anonymous but she knows who it is (I love you so much you gekkie! xx)

“Roger I’m just saying, I think you’re being ridiculous”

Fishing a discarded Hendrix shirt from the explosion of clothes on the floor Roger rolls his eyes. Packing is stressful enough without Brian wittering anxious nonsense every few minutes. He’s only emptied half his wardrobe for goodness sake- the various items creating an inch deep sea of trip hazards- and his suitcase is already overflowing. If he wants to be ready before the morning he’s likely going to have to work all night. 

“I don’t see what’s ridiculous about wanting to go travelling” He replies “Lots of people do it” 

“People who’re wealthier than you. Older. And not…” Brian trails off. 

Roger turns and raises his eyebrows “Not what?” As if he needs to ask. The faint embarrassed flush creeping across his friends face betrays his answer before he says it. 

“You know…” Brian bites his lip “Not unbonded omegas” 

For what feels like the umpteenth time this afternoon Roger huffs “Fucks sake it’s 1974, omegas can travel without needing an entire bloody police escort” To emphasise his point he slams both his hands down on the lid of his suitcase. It does little to force the heap of clothes further into the bag but it makes him feel slightly better. 

With a sigh, Brian runs a hand through his curls “I’m not saying they can’t. I’m just saying…” Again he bites his lip, this time also averting his eyes. It’s unsurprising that when he resumes arguing it’s with a totally different thread of logic. A few more boneheaded alphas might jump headfirst into debates surrounded the logistics of omega treatment in the modern age, but Brian’s at least got enough sense not to pursue the matter “Surely it makes more sense to come stay with me for a while” He pleads “Just until you’ve paid off your uni debts. You can get a job and earn a little money-“ 

“Yeah yeah” Roger waves a hand dismissively “And then a year will go by and I’ll have taxes and a mortgage and I’ll be trapped there forever” 

Turning away from his friend he retrieves a rather ugly green jacket from amongst the debris. Of course, Brian would say something like that. Having bonded with Chrissy last year and with the funds for his masters already in hand, the alpha has his entire future practically planned out. Before he knows it he’ll be forty with five children and a dissertation. Even the thought of it makes Roger cringe. Deciding against packing the hideous jacket he makes a mental note to gift it to a charity shop before he goes. 

“What’s so bad about settling down?” Asks Brian, having decided not to drop the matter in the meantime. Under his plea, there’s a hint of offence, his own ambitions to live a perfectly normal life leading him to take Roger’s comments personally. 

“Everything” Reply John and Roger in unison.

The frown Brian sends John’s way could have likely killed a lesser man “You know, there’s nothing stopping you from actually being helpful John” 

“I know,” Says John from behind his magazine. To his credit he’s been remarkably quiet for the last half an hour, apparently content to lounge on Roger’s bed, legs on either side of the suitcase, ignoring the carnage happening around him “But I don’t need to be. Give him a month and he’ll be back, only then he’ll be poor as well as miserable” 

Roger gapes at him “Thanks for the vote of confidence John. I really appreciate it” His voice cracks unfortunately in the middle of the sentence, turning his irritation into something more akin to a child whining. 

John grins “You’re welcome” Then he retreats back behind his copy of Betas Only. 

From Brian’s crossed arms and furrowed brow to the bikini-clad woman on the front of John’s magazine (whose smile feels like an extension of John mocking him) Roger looks back and forth. Much as he knows his friends are far more progressive with regards to omega politics than the average beta or alpha, he can’t help but see a deep injustice in the way they feel entitled to belittle and criticise his ambitions. As if he isn’t already acutely aware of the risks associated with travelling alone. Like he doesn’t know that his journey might end with him retreating broke and miserable, tail between his legs. Plenty of people go travelling after university, and that includes young unbonded omegas. Roger’s not some blushing damsel to be whisked away or taken advantage of blindly, and yet Brian and John seem to have forgotten it entirely. 

Once again slamming his hands down on the lid of his suitcase Roger slings a cardigan over his shoulders from the pile and picks his way to the door, ignoring Brian’s protests and John’s snickers of laughter. A part of his wants to demand the two leave his apartment altogether, but in anticipation of the stress his upcoming flight will doubtless cause him in the next few hours he decides against it, instead opting to take an angry smoke break. 

He’s gone through two cigarettes before he feels even remotely ready to face his friends again. 

  
Four o’clock the next morning finds him at the airport gate. Unsurprisingly neither parties involved have changed their minds about his impromptu gap year, with John keeping up an air of vaguely interested bemusement, and Brian nervously biting at his nails when he thinks Roger isn’t looking.

“I still think this is a bad idea. Are you sure you don’t want to just come stay with me for a little bit?” Asks the alpha, as he reluctantly passes Roger the suitcase he’d so helpfully offered to carry. 

If it weren’t for the downright mournful look in his friends eye Roger would’ve replied with something far more scathing. But with the knowledge that he likely won’t see his friend for some months, he settles on a more measured “Thanks, but no. There’s a whole world out there, I’ve got to at least try and see it before I settle into some shit dead-end job for the rest of my life” His attempt at humour is met with silence.

Brian glances over his head and through the terminal, eyes settling apprehensively on the plane looming through the windows. Despite not being a nervous flier himself his doubtless counting the numerous ways this could go wrong, from the mundane “You might trip while boarding and break your neck” to the catastrophic “The entire plane could explode over the English channel” Christ, he’s worse than Roger’s mother. Overbearing in the most patronising, alpha-esque way possible. 

In deliberate defiance Roger flashes him a grin “Oh cheer up Bri, what’s the worst that can happen?” 

His friends stare at him in unison. Brian sighs wearily and John raises an eyebrow, with both expressions conveying the same rhetorical question of “Do you really want me to answer that?” 

As it turns out the worst that can happen is Roger gets lost. Horribly utterly lost, not twenty-four hours into the journey, in one of the largest cities in Europe. How he’d managed to walk off the edge of the tourists guide to Paris map is beyond him, but the point is he’s been wandering the backstreets of this godforsaken French city for at least two hours, and to add insult to injury he’s thirsty and hungry and bitterly regretting not just staying at his hotel today. What’s so special about the Eiffel Tower anyway? Going straight from the airport to see it at sunrise was definitely a mistake. 

Mentally cursing the entire country, it’s whole population, and Belgium too just for good measure he takes his map out again to futilely try and work out where he is. Last he’d seen he was in the Northern corner of the map, somewhere between the main road and a set of public loos. A far cry from the dainty houses overflowing with foliage and flowers that are currently surrounding him. If he wasn’t preoccupied with how certain he is that his face is starting to burn in the mid-afternoon glare he’s sure he’d be finding the whole place rather pleasant, but as it stands they’re just an irritating reminder that he’s nowhere near the city centre from which he’d started. 

Hmm. He turns the map upside down. Then when that does nothing except make it harder to read he turns it the right way up again. If he’d walked away from the public toilets in what he thought was a northern direction, but is now inclined to believe was a southern one, then he can only be so far from the main road. But then, on the other hand, he can’t see hide nor hair of it, which suggests he’s gone further than he thought… 

“Excuse me, dear? Are you lost by any chance?” The voice interrupts his train of thought, high and posh and decidedly un-French. 

Roger lowers the map, almost delirious with relief. A large part of why he’s lost is on account of his woeful grip on the French language, so to hear an English speaking voice is beyond reassuring. 

Across the street from him sits the speaker. Lounging on a bench, paintbrush in one hand and shirt lazily unbuttoned to reveal shiny tanned skin, he blends perfectly into the scenery, so casual in his appearance that he might as well be as inherent to the street as the houses and the flowers. 

Roger grins at him. There’s a hot flush rising in his cheeks that has nothing to do with sunburn “What gave it away?” 

“You’ve come past this corner three times now. I’m going to have to add you into my painting at this rate” Smiles the man “Not that I mind though. You’d make a lovely addition” He pats the bench beside him, and Roger gratefully takes a seat, knees aching in protest.

From there he’s able to lean over the stranger's shoulder for a better view of the art piece in question “Oh wow. Fuck, that’s really good!” 

Across half of the canvas the street in front of them has taken shape, coming to life in swirls of bright acrylic. There’s a definite vibrancy to the painting that the real world doesn’t have, but the exaggerated colours are a near-perfect fit for the quaint surroundings. 

The painter blushes, wincing slightly at the compliment “Thank you. I’m not convinced though, this door isn’t such a pale green, and the sky is all wrong and-” 

“No, I’m serious” Interrupts Roger earnestly “It’s fantastic. Only a pretentious artist twat would notice those differences” 

He doesn’t realise what he’s said until he catches the strangers eye. There’s a pause. And then they both laugh, the man covering his mouth as he chuckles. 

“Well that’s bloody rich coming from someone wearing a Grannies coat” He says pointedly, raising an eyebrow as he scans Roger up and down “Tell me, who’d you steal that from” 

“Myself. I didn’t eat for a week after I bought it. Cost me a bloody fortune” 

“But worth every penny. It suits you beautifully” Sighs the man. He reaches a hand out, waiting for a nod of approval before he caresses the fabric of the coat lightly, a clear longing in his eye. 

“Thank you” Roger smiles. Then he too holds his hand out “Roger Taylor” 

“Freddie Mercury” Replies the man. Having finished admiring the jacket he takes Roger’s hand warmly, only this time using his right instead of his left and subsequently smearing paint across Roger’s skin. As he curses amidst profoundly sincere apologies Roger can’t help the sneaking suspicion that he and Freddie are going to get along rather well. 

  
They spend the next two days together. First at the Eiffel Tower, and then on the Champs Elysees, then by the banks of the River Seine, with the most exciting venture being the pair spending a fortune to enter the Louvre, before being thrown out by security not half an hour later for “Disorderly behaviour”. 

Now, on what might be Sunday night but could also well be early Monday morning, the pair finally stumble into Roger’s hotel room, tripping over each other in their haste to make it to the bed. They’ve had more than a bit of wine, and Roger fumbles with the door lock. 

“Shit!” Upon dropping the key a third time he breaks out in a fit of laughter.

From his position sprawled against the pillows Freddie too laughs “Leave it, come here” 

Roger glances at him over his shoulder. With his hair framing his face and arms tucked behind his head Freddie looks every bit like the Renaissance paintings they’d seen earlier that day; handsome and delicate and absolutely gorgeous. 

Roger licks his lips “If you insist” 

Abandoning the door he falls into his companion's arms, immediately nuzzling at his neck to breathe in his scent with a contented whine. Freddie smells like an antique shop, all dust and memories, with an underlying hint of something sweet. Honey maybe, or perhaps Lilies. 

With both of them giggling drunkenly, Roger rolls over so he’s straddling Freddie, barely keeping his balance as he buries his hands in Freddie’s shirt and draws him into a deep kiss, tightness pooling in his stomach as he feels the other man grow hard beneath him. 

For what feels like an eternity they stay locked together. At some point Roger buries his fingers in the alphas hair, tugging down slowly but firmly until Freddie finally breaks away from the kiss with a moan of pleasure. 

Grinning tipsily Roger’s about to go in for another kiss when he feels the other man grip at his thighs, and then the next thing he knows he’s being flipped clumsily back onto the mattress, the movement happening so fast that he clips the back of his skull on the headboard on the way down. He squeezes his eyes shut with a groan. It’s really not so painful but a combination of alcohol and surprise has him temporarily dazed. 

When he finally does squeeze one eye open Freddie’s still on top of him, hand over his own mouth and clearly caught between laughter and deep embarrassment 

“Shit! Fuck, are you alright?” 

Roger rolls his eyes with a snort. He’s more than fine. His only problem is that Freddie’s now looking at him with concern, which, with Roger’s cock now painfully hard in his jeans and, just won’t do at all. 

  
Truth be told when Roger had drunkenly dragged his new friend back to his hotel room he hadn’t anticipated anything beyond a handjob, maybe some fingering at a push. 

What he definitely hadn’t expected was to find himself stark naked on his hands and knees, gasping for breath with tears pooling at the corners of his eyes as Freddie pushes into him. Slowly but surely stretching him out in a way that perfectly straddles the line between pain and pleasure until Roger’s already hard cock is leaking precum onto the bedsheets. 

Despite how hesitant (almost embarrassed) Freddie had been initially he’s bigger than any alpha Roger’s ever been with by quite some distance, and the sensation of being so full has him biting his lip so desperately he’s sure to draw blood. His body can’t decide if he wants more or to writhe away, so he’s stuck quivering on the mattress, only occasionally able to find the breath to mewl for more. 

He’s not sure how long they stay intertwined. It might be ten minutes or half an hour. But it takes all his willpower to keep from falling over the brink, and the effort he has to expend only increases when the alpha (already filling him up so much it almost hurts) begins to swell inside him. Knotting him into place. Stretching him even further and increasing the pressure on his prostate until Roger can’t hold on any longer and comes with a loud whine, stars clouding his vision as grasps desperately at the pillow beneath him, all his muscles clenching around Freddie’s enormous girth. 

As the final aftershocks of his orgasm pulse through his body, he’s dimly aware of the alpha coming too, wet and hot inside him, his moans echoing in Roger’s ears. It’s only here that in his fuzzy state Roger realises they hadn’t made use of the condoms stuffed at the bottom of his suitcase. Ah well. He’s not in heat. If it’s an issue he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it. In the meantime he decides to make the most of the moment, shifting all responsibility for any consequences to future Roger. 

For a moment neither he nor Freddie says anything, the only sounds in the room being the pair of them panting for breath and the radiator creaking merrily in the corner. It takes a few minutes before the omega feels grounded enough to even contemplate moving, but anything he might say or do is out of nowhere interrupted by a scream from behind him that nearly gives him a heart attack.   
  
From his position on his hands and knees, he can’t quite turn around, but out the corner of his eye he spies the plump beta landlady, standing horrified in the doorway, gaping at the two of them in disgust. 

“Oh shit!” Exclaims Freddie. Instinctively he’s flinching but with his knot still inside Roger he can’t pull out and away “Sorry… We didn’t-” He stutters, while the woman unleashes a stream of angry French that neither party needs to translate to understand the meaning of. 

Roger meanwhile buries his face in the pillow beneath him and hopes she can’t see him shaking with laughter. Of course. He should’ve known forgoing locking the door would come back to bite them. And with his body still full of endorphins and wine he can’t find the situation anything but funny. They must look ridiculous. Trapped with Freddie knotting Roger from behind. The mental image only makes him laugh harder. 

Only when he hears the door slam has the knot inside him finally deflating to the point where he can pull away. Legs trembling and inner thighs coated with slick he looks at Freddie, still slightly helpless with laughter.

“Well, that was…” The alpha runs a hand through his hair with something that’s almost a grimace of embarrassment but mostly a smile “Fuck” 

Post-coitus Freddie is somehow even more attractive than regular Freddie; hair tousled, face turning slightly pinkish at the edges, svelte figure silhouetted by the glare of the streetlights streaming in through the closed curtains. 

“I told you I needed to lock the door” Snorts Roger, giggling when he feels Freddie’s hand sneaking down to his cock. They’ve only just finished, but he can already feel himself growing hard again. 

“Hmm… If I didn’t know any better I’d say you liked being interrupted” Teases Freddie

“So what if I did?” Truthfully the presence of a middle-aged beta woman has had little to do with his growing erection, but for the sake of whatever game Freddie’s playing Roger’s happy to play along. Round one was more than good. Who’s he to say no to round two?

  


“Roger.... I… This’ll… This’ll sound absurd. We’ve only just… But… Why don’t you come back to London with me?” Freddie’s voice, barely a whisper, disturbs the peace in the bedroom. Ruining the quiet comfortable solace of the two of them lying side by side, hands intertwined lazily with one another's as the light of dawn begins to peak through the curtains. 

Roger feels his throat tighten “That’s just the wine talking” He says slowly. 

There’s a pause. Then a soft murmur of “...I don’t think it is” 

Roger doesn’t reply. They’ve only known each other for just under two days. But in that time he’s learned that the alpha beside him is artistic and generous, introspective but silly, with a sense of humour that matches Roger to a tee. Essentially he’s perfect. Gaze drifting up towards the ceiling Roger imagines the two of them arriving in London. Perhaps buying a flat together and opening a vintage clothes shop or an art stall. It seems so perfect. So simple. 

“Freddie I can’t. It’s not that I don’t want to. But… I can’t. I’ve only just left”

Beside him there’s nothing but silence. The alpha has stopped caressing the back of his hand and is instead holding it rather stiffly. Doubtless having his offer declined is both upsetting and embarrassing. 

“I’m travelling for the next six months” Elaborates Roger “Wait till I get back, and if you still feel the same way I’ll come and find you. I promise” 

That’s what he says at any rate. Whether or not he means it? Well, he’s not quite sure. Having had countless dalliances throughout his life (although admittedly none as instantly captivating as this one) he knows the likelihood of them ever seeing each other again is slim. But at the moment it’s the only comfort he has to offer Freddie. 

More silence. Roger lies still, unsure whether or not the alpha is asleep or awake, and unwilling to accidentally make matters worse if it’s the latter. Only when he’s fully sure that the man beside him is asleep does he make a move. 

Gathering up his things before finally leaving a small note underneath a collection of coins that should hopefully cover the cost of the room. 

Then he leaves. Knowing that logically he owes nothing to the stranger he’s just abandoned in his bed but feeling immensely guilty nonetheless. Not just for the harm he’s doing to Freddie but for what he’s denying himself. Maybe this is it. Maybe Freddie’s his Chrissie (Much as the thought of settling down still makes him want to gag) and he’s passing up his soulmate for the chance to see the world. If only he’d met Freddie towards the end of his trip when they’d both have been heading back to London. Much as he has to go he can’t ignore the sinking feeling in his chest that tells him he’ll probably live to regret this decision. 

A sentiment that, unbeknownst to him, is shared by Freddie when he subsequently wakes up the next morning, with no sign of his companion beyond a small scrap of paper that reads-   
“Dear Freddie, Thank you for a great night. I’m sorry we couldn’t have had something more. I might see you in six months, but please don’t wait for me if you find someone who’ll make you happy. RMT” 

Folding it delicately into his pocket the alpha, both angry and upset at being so unceremoniously abandoned, wonders if perhaps he should’ve tried harder to persuade Roger. Not that it matters now he’s gone. 

  
A twelve-hour journey is, understandably, not enough for Roger to forget those warm brown eyes, or the feel of Freddie’s hands on his body, but nevertheless by the time he’s reached the Greek coast he feels far less melodramatic than he had done while leaving Paris. 

In the light of the evening sun, his fears about abandoning his soulmate seem almost ridiculous. And definitely far less significant than his current new pressing predicament, this being that for the life of him he can’t find the hotel he’s meant to be staying at. The man at the airport had told him to take a right by the theatre, but now he’s on the seafront with no idea which direction he’d come from or where he’s meant to be going. 

“Oi sweetheart, you lost?” The voice comes unexpectedly from above.   
  
Looking in the direction of the speaker Roger nearly drops his suitcase when he realises who’s talking. Leaning lazily over the edge of boat rail is a muscular alpha women, dressed in an open white shirt and black short shorts. Cigarette in one hand and heavily lined eyes peeking out over the top of her sunglasses. The very picture of dapper. 

“That depends” Roger drops his suitcase beside him and smiles up at her “Is there a nice young girl around to show me the way if I am?” 

The faintest hint of a smirk pulls at the corners of her mouth “Don’t think so. There aren’t any nice girls here that I can see. Maybe try the next port along” 

“Well that is a shame” Says Roger “Because I’m pretty sure I’m looking at one”

Snorting, the woman drops the butt of her cigarette and crushes it lazily under her foot “Where are you headed, babe?” 

“The Sangster Hotel” 

Her face twists into a grimace “You’re staying there?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean? Just for the night. Then I’m getting the ferry to Skopelos”

The woman waves a hand dismissively “You don’t want to stay there. There’s rats and locusts and all manner of disgusting things. You wouldn’t survive the night” She looks Roger up and down, a strange look on her face. 

“That sucks” Roger sighs with faux distress. There’s something about this mysterious sailor that his him weak at the knees “But unfortunately I’ve got nowhere else to go” 

“It is shit” Agrees the woman “If only there was a nice girl willing to lend you her boat for the night” 

“Oh, if only” 

Her facade only lasts a few seconds “Come up here darling” She grins, crouching under the boat rail to offer Roger a hand up. After first passing her his luggage Roger accepts the hand, initially wary of both the gap between the jetty and the boat, and the height to which she’ll need to lift him, but with his doubts quickly dying in his throat when she successfully hoists him up and over with just one arm. As if Roger needed any more reasons to be utterly head over heels. 

“I’m Dom” Says the sailor once he’s safely on board. 

“I can see that” Replies Roger, mouth racing ahead of his brain. She quirks an eyebrow at him, bemused “Fuck I mean, I’m Roger” 

Dom holds a hand out, a smirk on her lips and a strange glint in her eyes “Nice to meet you, Roger” 

  
Of course, staying the night with Dom means sex. Not that Roger had been under the impression that it would mean anything else, but it’s surprising how little time it takes before the pair are pressed up against one another. True to her name she’s taking the lead; with one hand entwined in his hair and the other pressing against his chest, she pins him to the side of the boat, the intoxicating scent of cherries and driftwood filling his nostrils. As he begins to writhe and moan she sucks at the exposed skin of his neck, gradually moving from gentle nips to more toothy bites that are certain to leave a mark. Tomorrow every stranger he passes will be able to see what a filthy slut he’s been. The thought causes his already hard erection to strain even further against the zip of his jeans. 

With a satisfied smile, Dominique pulls away to survey her work. 

“So pretty” She says, eyes flicking hungrily up and down his body “Are you going to be good for me sweetheart?” 

Already nearly totally lost inside his own head Roger can only whine. He’s so desperate to touch her, and, more importantly, to be touched in return. He wants to be taken right here, right now against the wall. To hell with the rest of the port, he’s going to be as loud as he damn well pleases. 

Dom’s smile widens “Use your words pet” She combs her fingers through his hair with a surprising gentleness that juxtaposes wildly with how wound up Roger is. The nickname is driving him wild. With all his being he wants nothing more than submit to her, to play the role of the submissive pet, to be taken care of by this amazonian woman. 

Roger licks his lips “Please” He croaks “I’ll be good for you. Please alpha” 

Which apparently is all she needs. Although she’s mindful of Roger’s well being (periodically asking if what she’s doing feels good) once Dominique has him naked and restrained she wastes no time making him hers. She’s hot and wet and tight as she sinks down on top of him, her nails raking at his bare chest in a way that has him writhing against the ropes. It takes all his effort not to come then and then, and even once she’s ridden him to the point where he comes so hard he near loses consciousness she doesn’t relinquish control. On the contrary she fucks him several more times before the night ends, with their fun only ending when Roger finally slips into an orgasm induced haze.

Having slept with multiple girls (alphas, betas and omegas alike) he’s never had one dominate him before. But when he’s awoken by Dom with a glass of water and an entire English breakfast he decides he definitely needs to try it more often. In fact, he’s pretty certain that if he could marry her on the spot here and now, he probably would. 

Sadly that doesn’t happen. Despite how completely averse he remains to the idea of getting married, a large part of him bitterly regrets not getting down on one knee, or at the very least not asking Dominique if she could stay. 

Especially now he’s bitterly cold, struggling up a dirt track with the port far below and obscured by a heavy layer of rain. The thunderstorm had started shortly after he’d watched Dominique sail away. One moment the sky had been so bright he’d had to wrestle his sunglasses from the bottom of his suitcase, and the next the heavens were opening on top of him. Hence here he is, still at least half an hour away from the house he’s renting for the next week, and still numbly trying to process his last encounter with Dom.   
  
Head bowed against the rain he plays the scene over and over in his head, Dominique purring “I’ll be back in four months, think you can wait that long sweetheart?... Don’t forget about me” 

And somewhere, even more distantly, Freddie’s voice echoing “I’ve never felt like this about anyone before…” 

It’s not like him to be so hung up over nothing more than two above-average hookups. And yet… 

He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t hear the motorbike until it’s practically about to run him over. Jumping aside (almost tripping over his suitcase in the process) he glares at the biker, who slows to a stop beside him. 

The man raises his visor “Strange time to be wandering this stretch of road” He shouts over the thunder of the rain “Are you lost?” 

Roger frowns, grip tightening on his luggage. The last thing he needs is to be bothered by some arsehole on a bike “No. Actually I thought that the best way to spend my Sunday night would be soaking wet on an ungodly stretch of road in the middle of fucking-” 

“So you are” Grins the stranger. Which does nothing to dampen Roger’s desire to deck him in the face “Need a lift?” He asks “I promise I’m not going to hurl you off the edge of the cliff. I’m better on the bike than you’d think” 

“It’s not the bike I’m worried about” Mutters Roger. In all his life he doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone who radiates such pure undiluted boneheaded alpha energy as the man in front of him. Satan will ice skate his way to work before Roger goes anywhere on that motorbike. That’s for certain. “But thanks anyway” 

The stranger shrugs. Removing his helmet he shakes out a crop of waist length long hair, just barely thinning at the edges, and looks Roger up and down “Fair enough. If I were an unmated omega on my own I’d be nervous too. But if you can take my word for it I promise I’m not going to hurt you. And if you can’t then would you like me to fetch someone to come get you? There’s a lovely beta woman with a truck who lives just a mile that way, I can go get her instead” 

It’s a tempting offer. Then again, it’ll take the man goodness knows how long to fetch this beta woman. If she even exists at all. For all Roger knows he could spend hours waiting only to never see this stranger again. Besides, he can handle himself. If the man really is dangerous then Roger has no doubts he could at least be an even match for him. Dying in a fight would at least be more dignified than freezing to death in a storm… 

Another crash of thunder rings out overhead and his decision is made. Gritting his teeth and rolling his eyes he holds his suitcase out with a murmur of “I must be fucking mental” 

“You’re travelling the back road in the middle of a thunderstorm. I’m pretty sure we already established that you’re perhaps one cylinder short of a motorbike” Reasons the man. Strapping Roger’s luggage to the back of his bike he offers the omega a hand to help him onto the bike, which Roger ignores “I’m Crystal” 

“Roger” 

“Good to meet you” Nods Crystal “Now hold on” 

  
All things considered the house could be worse. Sort of. On the positive side it’s huge, far bigger than Roger’s flat in London. Not that that’s impressive, but the house is three floors high, with giant bay windows that overlook the ocean (or would if it wasn’t currently obscured by clouds) and multiple en-suite bedrooms. However on the more negative side it’s absolutely mould riddled. Wallpaper peeling and doors hanging off their hinges and rotten floorboards in almost every corner. No wonder it was so cheap. 

As he wrings his jacket out onto the floor- which will definitely help the mould situation- Roger takes a look around him “Fucking hell” 

From across the room Crystal snorts. He’s using his dry t-shirt to dry his hair “Jesus the mouth on you. Does your mother know you use language like that?” 

“I should hope so. She’s the one who taught it to me” Says Roger, smiling despite himself. 

“If she’s anything like you she must be one scary omega” Grunts Crystal. 

“Oh trust me” Laughs Roger “She is” 

Despite his earlier plans to evict the biker as soon as possible, now he’s safe and somewhat warm his feelings towards the man have softened somewhat. His guard is still up of course, but he hasn’t been murdered yet. So naturally he’s counting that as a victory. 

Having finished drying his hair Crystal slings his shirt over a brown radiator “I didn’t know they still let out this place” He knocks on the nearest wall experimentally “Last I checked it was still a ruin” 

Roger frowns at him “Was?” 

“Trust me. It’s looked worse. Compared to what it used to be like it’s practically the ritz now” Replies Crystal “I get sent up here occasionally to do repairs 

“Hmm” Done too with trying to salvage his jacket Roger leaves the offending item of clothing on the floor and makes his way slowly to the nearby staircase for a better view of the room. Like everything else the stairs show signs of rot but feel sturdy enough beneath his feet. Halfway up he stops against the bannister, leaning on it thoughtfully as he surveys his surroundings, one eye warily trained on Crystal all the while. 

Unfortunately in doing so he inadvertently puts almost his entire weight against the soft wooden planks which creak alarmingly beneath him before giving way. Before he has the time to react the railings are collapsing, and he’s falling face first towards the floor with nothing to grab onto. 

  
Braces for an impact that never comes. Instead he finds himself landing securely in Crystal’s arms. The catch is bridal style, but Roger’s too busy reeling from his brush with death to feel humiliated. 

Above him Crystal laughs, but it doesn’t quite conceal the fading horror on the man’s face “So that’s twice now I’ve saved your arse. Careful, it’s becoming a habit”

Roger too laughs. For fuck's sake. 

  
Which, to cut a very long story short, is how he ends up sleeping with Crystal. 

Under the smell of nicotine the alphas scent reminds Roger of malt beer and good, warm food. Pastry maybe. Either way he smells rough but homely, a perfect reflection of his nature. When they fuck yes, it’s against a table with Roger pressed roughly against the wood, but not once does he feel overpowered or uncared for. It’s the polar opposite of what he’d expected upon first meeting Crystal.

Also unexpected is the fact that the alpha stays after what Roger had assumed would be a one night stand. First just for another night. Then another. And then for a week. Then two. Apparently a resident of the island living above a repair shop he has no particular need to return home, opting instead to help Roger with the various repairs that need doing around the soon to be hotel. 

It’s actually surprising how quickly the two of them fall into a domestic routine. If Roger weren’t having so much fun he’d be repulsed by the whole affair, but then again if he’s learnt anything over the course of his travels it’s that domesticity doesn’t have to be Brian and Chrissie-esque. Instead of polite cups of tea in the morning and light conversation it can be nights out, followed by going home together, or afternoons spent just hanging around. In fact, not that he’d ever admit this to Brian, but increasingly he can’t help but wonder if his fear of settling down was more a result if assuming it’d have to be done by numbers fashion. With a white wedding and a mortgage as opposed to 

There’s only one thing keeping his current life from being perfect. Or more specifically, two someones. If he dwells for too long on Freddie and Dom he can’t help but feel soured with guilt. Much as he’d been infatuated with both of them it would be better, he reasons, if neither came back at all. Because while the thought of the pair somewhere out there in the world without him is painful, more agonising is the thought that both might return to find him already bonded with another alpha. No. It’d be the lesser of two evils if he was forgotten by both of his former dalliances. At least that way life with Crystal could continue as is with few complications. 

Sadly though, life is hardly ever as simple. But the downfall of his and Crystal’s honeymoon period comes not from the return of Dominique and Freddie, but a phone call. 

Roger's reattaching a door when Crystal enters the upstairs bedroom, looking white as a sheet and staring numbly at his companion.

“What?” Roger pauses. Having seen Crystal angry, irritated and upset but never in such a state of dumb shock he knows instinctively that this can't be anything good. 

Crystal doesn't say anything for a moment. Then, “...It’s my grandmother" 

“Oh. Fuck, I’m so sorry, is she-” Roger drops the screwdriver in his hand, scrambling to his feet while Crystal lowers himself numbly to the edge of the bed. 

“She’s ok. Kind of. Fuck I don’t really know. But I have to…” He trails off. 

Roger nods, not needing to hear the rest of the sentence to understand its meaning “Yeah you should. When’re you leaving?” 

Crystal signs wearily. He runs a hand down his face “Tomorrow morning” 

  
So Crystal goes back to England. Leaving Roger both with the promise that he’d write as often as possible and (more importantly) an empty house that’s far too big for him. He’s already stayed in Greece far longer than he’d planned to. But with a reason to stay he’s not entirely sure what to do. For the first time since he’d left home nearly three weeks ago he feels dreadfully alone. Not certain whether he should wait here for Crystal or move on. 

It’s a decision that weighs heavily upon him, but he’s still surprised when he finds himself coming down with a likely stress induced bug. Hanging over the toilet, hair coated in sick, he blearily wonders if maybe it’s time to move on from Greece. 

  
Having finally finished cleaning the floor of the reception area Roger leans heavily against the broom, one hand instinctively moving to rest on his lower back. Around him a few of the guests offer sympathetic looks, but most pass him by. Skopelos is a small island. And while some have more than readily accepted the presence of a pregnant unbonded omega a few are still suspicious. Not that Roger cares. They’re irritating but they keep their distaste to themselves. Besides, it’s far better to be ignored than swarmed everywhere he goes by people trying to help. 

He takes another deep breath, putting more weight on the already abused handle. Helen had mentioned that he’s welcome to take a break whenever, but with no more money to either stay here without a job or return home he’s resigned himself to sweeping for the forseeable future. Even if it’s taking a toll on his changing body. 

At just over halfway through his pregnancy he’s already forgotten what it feels like to move with ease. If it’s not his back giving him trouble then it’s his shoulders or his belly or his ankles, sometimes all three at once. And that’s to say nothing of how heavy he is. It’s unsurprising given that the mainland doctor had confirmed he’s now pregnant with twins but even so, if he’s this large at only fifteen weeks then he can’t imagine how much bigger he’s going to get. 

Which in itself carries with it a myriad of issues, the least of all being what he’s going to do when he ultimately becomes too exhausted to work for more than an hour or so a day. Again, returning home is always an option. But that’ll only be viable once he’s raised the money to. Besides, how much will it cost to take two newborns on a plane? Will they need visas and passports? He has no idea. Of course he could always write to Crystal for help, the alpha being still in England following the unfortunate death of his grandmother, but having kept his pregnancy a secret he doesn’t believe he can break the news now, especially not in a letter. Brian and John are also an option, but he’d sooner rather suffer the pain of being pregnant with quadruplets than the shame of having to ask them for help. Then there’s the other two possible parents, but he has no idea where either of them are. 

Essentially he’s on his own. It’s unfortunate but true. He’ll manage though. One way or another he’s sure of it. Maybe if he picks up a second job at the mechanics. Or the cafe down the road. Hm. Returning to his sweeping he ponders the options lazily. So lost in thought that he almost doesn’t notice the door to the hotel opening. 

But when he does he nearly drops the broom in shock. There, with a neater haircut but otherwise identical to how he’d been when Roger had last seen him lying asleep in a Paris hotel, is Freddie Mercury. Same open shirt. Same warm brown eyes and nervous smile that’s currently a mixture of elation and mild terror. 

“Freddie?” Roger feels absolutely rooted to the spot. 

The alpha nods, holding a hand up “I know what you said, and I promise I did try to wait but I just couldn’t-” 

“God I’m so happy to see you” Murmurs Roger, but in his ramblings Freddie doesn’t hear him. 

“- Because I realised that.. Well you’re the only person I’ve ever really loved. And I know that sounds fucking absurd because we barely know each other-” 

“Freddie” 

“-But, well life is short. We might as well give it a shot right?” 

“Freddie…” 

“Only if you want to of course! It’s just that I-” 

“Freddie! For goodness sake will you listen to me?” Shouts Roger, far louder than he’d intended to, inadvertently drawing the attention of everyone in the near vicinity. But he’s happy to let them stare, because actually the injustice of having to carry twins while supporting himself completely on their own while the alphas who did this to him are able to continue wandering consequence free and now won’t let him get a word in edgeways, is finally starting to boil to the surface“Fucking hell” He throws the broom aside “I’m pregnant!” 

The outburst leaves him panting for breath. Bitterly regretting tossing away his support he folds his arms, continuing to glare at Freddie who looks like he might be having a mini heart attack. Everyone else in the lobby is quiet, whispering in hushed voices. The air is thick with tension. And then- 

“Roger?” A voice, smooth and silky and recognisable anywhere breaks through the near silence. 

Behind Freddie stands Dominique. Tanned and even more muscular than she’d been when Roger had last seen her, with a suit jacket draped across one arm and a look of confused apprehension on her face. 

But that’s not the worst of it. Beside her, inexplicably, as if the universe is openly mocking Roger, stands Crystal. Bedecked in his customary leather jacket. 

“Who-” Crystal stares from Freddie to Dom to Roger. Then he clears his throat and runs a hand awkwardly through his hair “Is this a bad time?” 

  
After finally asking Helen for that aforementioned break Roger’s successfully managed to shepherd all three of his former lovers into the break room. 

Opposite him on a sofa they sit, each one a bizarre contrast to those beside them. Freddie the bedraggled artist, Dominique the dapper sailor and Crystal the biker. All in one room. If he weren’t hormonal and thus somewhat pissy at the universe for doing this to him Roger would doubtless be having a meltdown. 

But as it stands he’s not doing that. So instead he’s left without any other choice except providing all three with an explanation. 

“I slept with you, all of you, in the same week” He begins, keeping a hand over his bump instinctively. On the one hand having knowingly had sex with an unbonded omega he’s sure none of them will judge him too harshly, he’s also acutely aware of how some alphas can be about this sort of thing. Jealousy, hormones etc all play a role. And truth be told he’s not in the mood to give any of them the benefit of the doubt “And well…” 

He trails off. Knowing full well that his bump more than speaks for itself. 

“Do you know which of us is… Who’s the…?” Asks Crystal. When Roger shakes his head the alpha stands up abruptly, walking stiffly to the window and staring silently out of it with his back to the group, expression consequently unreadable. 

Frowning at him (because it’s not as though Roger can turn away from his pregnancy) the omega turns his attention to the other two alphas in the room. Dominique is staring at him intently, hanging on his every word, mouth pressed closed in a tight line, meanwhile Freddie is biting at his nails, gaze averted to an apparently particularly interesting patch of carpet. Neither says anything. Both apparently lost for words. 

Again Roger feels a somewhat undeserved resentment seething inside him. He’s said all he needs to say. The least any of them could do is offer something helpful. Maybe even a sorry for putting him in this position in the first place. 

Surprisingly it’s Crystal who speaks first. Turning away from the window it’s clear even with the main lighting in the room behind him that his eyes are red rimmed. An oddly emotive response even given the situation at hand “I don’t know much about children” He says hoarsely “And fuck knows I’m not ready to have one now, but I know that this kid is at least one third my responsibility. Whatever you need, I’ll do my damn best to provide it” 

He strides over, gait only a little shaky as he arrives beside Roger and gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“Me too” Says Freddie. Voice wavering but firm. 

“Me three” Adds Dom.

And then suddenly Roger’s being accosted from all sides. Each alpha finding a part of him to cling to. Rolling his eyes affectionately Roger clings back, burying his face into their warmth, breathing in the contrasting but comforting mix of scents. It's only when there's a lump in his throat and a tightness in his chest that he realises this is the first time he's been hugged since Crystal left. In all four months of his pregnancy, no one has so much as touched him. At least not intentionally. Not with this sort of loving tenderness. It's enough to near move him to tears.

Somewhere above him he hears Crystal say "My mother's going to kill me though. ” 

Freddie groans “Oh shit. I hadn’t even thought of that” 

Roger sniffles with laughter. Much as there's undoubtedly far more stigma surrounding pregnant unbonded omegas, there's a certain societal distaste for the alphas who impregnate them in the first place. But Crystal, Freddie and Dom can worry about that later. 

For now, all Roger cares about is having them all here beside him. And he's about to voice as much when- 

“Roger?” If he wasn't already almost as familiar with Brian's voice as he is with his own Roger wouldn't have believed his ears “Where the hell have you been? We haven’t heard from you in-” 

Pulling away from the huddle abruptly (having to shove all three alphas away from him) Roger stands. There, true enough, as if today couldn't get any more absurd, are Brian and John. Who look first to his face and then to his bump and finally tothe crowd of alphas. 

Brian looks like he's about to have an aneurysm. Meanwhile John- who never fails to have a witty remark on hand- is gaping silently. 

Roger just rolls his eyes. The universe hates him. 

  
It’s been eight hours since he first started having contractions, so the midwife beside him says, but to Roger it might as well have been an eternity. Or five minutes. Everything has happened so fast, and yet the ache in his bones and the exhaustion wracking his body serve as constant reminders of each agonising moment he’s just been through. 

And yet, he couldn’t be happier. Well, perhaps if someone could bring him something salty and greasy and full of carbs he might just about be a little more comfortable, but beyond that he’s totally at ease. Overwhelmed both with the delight of “Thank fuck I’m no longer pregnant” and at the scene before him- 

To the left of his bed stand Dominique and Freddie. In five months neither have changed too dramatically (the latter perhaps more muscular) and yet right now, as they stand with the eldest baby girl clutched between them, they look worlds away from the wild young artists he’d met back in the summer. 

“Hiya sweetheart” Whispers Dom. There are tears shining in the corners of her eyes, and its with a cautious but gentle hand that she reaches out to stroke the babies cheek. Freddie meanwhile is peering with a mixture of nerves and awe, as if he’s afraid that just looking might cause the infant to shatter, but at the same time he can’t bring himself to look away. 

Crystal similarly is gazing at the other baby (safely nestled in John’s arms) dumbstruck. Silently staring before finally managing to choke out “She’s so small” 

If he weren’t so bone-tired Roger would laugh. All three of his partners seem a little out of their depth, even if some are hiding it better than others. They’re only babies for goodness sake. 

Regardless their attention focused wholly on the twins no one in the room beyond the local midwife seems to have noticed that he’s awake. Which is fine by him. Of course, he’ll have to move when Brian arrives with food, but for now, he continues to watch silently. Enjoying the unrestricted view of his partners bonding with his newborn daughter. 

  
And later, when he’s curled up between the three of them, one baby in each arm and surrounded by warmth on all sides, he knows that he’s finally where he wants to be. 

The End.


End file.
